Wesker's Chosen
by Maiafay
Summary: AU, RE5. The world is plunged into chaos after Uroboros detonates. Wesker searches ruined countries to gather his chosen. Inside the President's bunker, Leon, Claire and the last of humanity fight to stay hidden and survive. ON HIATUS.


**Pairings: **Leon/Wesker, Leon/Claire

**Warnings:** The usual blood, sex, violence, and crazy shit. Character deaths.

**Rated M **

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**-Wesker's Chosen-**

Prologue

_A God's Judgment_

_Every thing that may abide the fire, ye shall make it go through the fire, and it shall be clean: nevertheless it shall be purified with the water of separation: and all that abideth not the fire ye shall make go through the water - Numbers 31:23_

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"Is he out there?" Sheva Alomar hobbled down the cargo hold ramp. She scowled and squinted at the blasting heat, then leaned against the side of the bomber to inspect her right boot. "My ankle is throbbing, the bastard. With any luck, a nice pile of sharp, pointy rocks broke his fall, or a giant lake of lava."

"Not luck, a miracle," Chris Redfield said and shielded his eyes against the curtain of smoke. "But to be honest, if the fall killed Wesker, I'd feel pretty damn cheated."

"I'd feel pretty damn relieved. After everything this monster has done to you, to my people - I want justice. I want it over." She sighed with closed eyes. A droplet of sweat hung from the ropey tendril of her bangs. It splashed on her cheek, trickled down like a tear. "I just want him dead."

He put his hand on her shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze. Her frown softened, but the tension in her body remained. He scanned the hell around them, watering eyes darting back and forth. Heat stung his face. The scent of rotten eggs and smoke almost made him gag. The ash, smoke and fire created a mauve mist flecked by burning embers. A beautiful effect – if he wasn't smack in the middle of it looking for a superpowered lunatic.

He wiped his forehead. Sweat smelled like sour milk. The ground crunched beneath his shoes, dark bones of the earth hardened by fire and gas. Another sweep of the barren landscape. Nothing but smoldering magma rivers and pits of wafting sulfur. No slicked blond hair, no crimson eyes. Maybe the crash _had_ killed him.

A pop and hiss of something melting. The blackened underbelly of the bomber, the paint peeling off the metal in furling ribbons. The missiles containing Uroboros lay exposed and strewn like broken pieces of chalk. Lava seeped through the cracked ground; capillaries and veins of orange rimmed with red threatened to melt those fragile white sticks. Bubbles formed along the black lettering and began to spread. Shit. If those casings ruptured—

"Come on!" He motioned to Sheva to hurry toward him, his eyes on the ticking time bombs no more than a few feet away. Wesker or no Wesker, if fire perforated those Uroboros missiles, they were dead. And he doubted he or Sheva had the so-called superior genes that would survive the infection – he doubted anyone did.

The rock rumbled under his boots in irritation, a cat sleeping with flattened ears and a twitching tail. Of all the places they could have crashed, it had to be an active volcano. Sheva's bare arms shined with sweat. Tears rolled down her face from the smoke. She craned her neck toward the west side of the crater—and by her eager pointing and excited smile—saw something he must not have noticed before. "Chris!" she said. "There's a—"

Laughter erupted from the smoke, a choked sound more desperate than amused. He heard the clank of slow footsteps behind them.

He spun, gun aimed. On the slanted bomber wing, Wesker approached with the determination of a wounded general, one whose men were dead and he alone would carry on the war. His usual swagger gone, every step took effort. Sweat coated his torso, his body bare from the waist up, the luster of his pants and boots faded and dirty. Wesker swayed a little as he paused, chest heaving.

But his eyes. That barbed pit in his stomach swelled and grew nettles. Wesker's eyes blazed brighter than the lava around him. Hope faltered. Gun lowered. Would anything they did make a difference? Wesker had survived the Tyrant in the mansion, an explosion in Antarctica, the fall out of Spencer's window, and the sky dive from the bomber. No matter what they did, the bastard kept going, a clock that never stopped ticking no matter how hard you smashed it, kicked it, took it apart. He had a gun. Wesker had infinite lives. Who would win this game?

Sheva's lip twisted, and brought her M93R level with his, her sight laser aimed between Wesker's radiant eyes. The mountain grumbled beneath their feet, a lazy complaint that promised a snarling roar should they continue to disturb its slumber.

"Do you ever wonder...Chris...why you're still alive?" Wesker's voice strained with fatigue, but his disdain held strong. "I could have put a bullet through that thick skull of yours, years ago." Uroboros missiles glittered beneath him, their metal casings taking on a glistening sheen. The mountain itself seemed to sense Wesker's fury. It stirred at the threat of bloodshed with a yawn of fire and a restless shifting of rock. He imagined its molten eyes opening, its gaze rising to the surface where mortals tickled its nose with the feathers of their petty dramas.

"I don't give a shit." He kept hearing Jill, the echoes of her once animate voice drained of spirit. Broken and hollow. "Only one of us is walking away from this. You or me."

Wesker blurted an awful laugh as if something had lodged in his throat. Then the sound smoothed, oil sliding down glass. "It will always be me, Chris. _Always_."

The mountain woke. It surged to its feet, spitting ash and shrieking with fire. Chaos twisted the world with ribbons of darkness and spewing earth. Time did that queer thing of slowing down, then speeding up again, as if the universe hit the pause button by mistake. A crevice zigzagged over the ground and cracked the nearby magma rivers wide. Lava, thick and greedy sucked the islands of rock into their eager mouths.

Sheva cried out, lost her balance. Chris slammed into the boulder the bomber rested against, the hunk of rock the only thing keeping the plane from falling into the magma lake behind it. The gun flew out of his hands. The impact of his body sent the rock crumbling into flames; bereft of its support, the plane gave a mighty shudder and tumbled over the edge.

Wesker abandoned the doomed bomber with a leap that managed to look elegant despite his clumsy roll to the ground. Wesker stumbled, fell to his knees with a sharp cry. The earth flopped like a skewered fish. The air snapped. Embers burned his skin. Thick clouds of sour smoke bloomed. When they cleared, he couldn't see Wesker anymore. Another angry wave rolled the earth beneath their feet. Once again, he and Sheva went airborne like birds rudely knocked off their perch.

Sheva sailed into a lone Uroboros missile that had survived the magma swan dive, hitting it with such force that it brought tears to his eyes. She wasn't walking away from that. On his knees, with ash up his nose and gunking up his throat, he fought to keep conscious. The ground became a churning ocean with him fighting to keep his head above water. No way would they die up here, not like this, not when they were so close—

_There's only so much one person can do, even superheroes like you, Chris._

The air dissolved, along with the roaring volcano and searing heat. A cooler breeze ruffled his hair and he could see the marshlands, the water parting, the foam rising as their boat sluiced through. A peaceful ride at the beginning, a moment of respite as two warriors told their heartaches and desire for vengeance. He wanted to be back in that boat, inhale the crisp smell of wet vegetation, watch the mist as it rose—

Sheva's scream slapped him back to reality.

He raised his head, and recoiled. When Sheva had hit the Uroboros missile, she not only damaged herself, but also the metal casing. Like some inky crystal geyser, the virus spurted over her shoulders and sparkled there under the crimson glare of the volcano. Their eyes met in horror. Time stopped, then ticked forward in one slow, painful motion.

Her body convulsed—once—twice—as if someone jabbed her with an electrical probe. Sheva's gaze went black. Her spine bent backwards, bent so far he could hear the crack over the howl of the mountain. Then, in a wet burst, her body split open. Uroboros thrashed free in a sopping heap of black tentacles and flailed in the air. He stared, unable tear his gaze away. Uroboros/Sheva shivered as she skirted around the magma rivers and slithered over rocks; her greedy quest for more flesh already beginning. Already so hungry. So fast. Too bad it wouldn't find much to eat here. Only him...only him.

He didn't blink, he couldn't. If he blinked and the image stayed, that made it real. It wasn't real. This wasn't real, it couldn't be, no, no, no—

A flash of red speared his vision as the missile Sheva had crashed into exploded. Shards of metal flew. Plumes of smoke billowed, adding their mass to the mountain's breath of flame and soot. The Uroboros virus saturated the surrounding area and burned. He couldn't see Uroboros/Sheva; he couldn't see anything. Wetness flowed over his face, down his chin. He wiped it away like a dazed child and tried to stand. He could see again, but he didn't want to. Not anymore.

A purple haze descended over him, a violet miasma, becoming thicker, denser. When he watched the particles descend and settle on his shirt, he realized it wasn't a hallucination; something hung in the air, a slimy dust cloud. It even dimmed the bright flare of the magma. The volcano bellowed in indignation. Another explosion shift the earth under his feet. The violet mist thickened like soup, swathes of color mingling with the fire, merging...

He toppled, fell on his ass. The ground tilted up and back again. More smoke. Flames soared. Ash fell. Heat consumed. Cracks appeared around his body. Hell peeked through, winked at him with red lashes. He yelped when those lashes burned his palms. Tears rose in a scalding tide and he let them flow freely. He wanted to scream; he wanted to die. Wait, Jill. He had to hang on...for Jill's sake—

When the black tendrils of Uroboros/Sheva wrapped around his legs, he could only stare at them in disbelief. "Sheva, no," he said. He jerked free in a flurry of limbs and scrambled backwards. More tentacles materialized around him. Their smell crawled inside his nose, blocking out the brimstone. Cherries, rotten cherries and salt. He'd rather have the eggy smoke back.

In his haste to escape the creature once named Sheva Alomar, his partner and companion through this nightmare that now had become his private hell, he didn't realize the earth began to get softer, hotter until his hand went down - and never came up. His shriek brought blood into his throat, the raw animal sound literally clawing out of him from the agony.

And he kept screaming, even when Uroboros/Sheva reached for him, embraced him with loving tendrils of dark, cool flesh. It felt...good. The pain stopped, snuffed out of his body in an instant. His eyes fluttered back and he sagged. Uroboros entered his ruined arm, slid under his flesh and burrowed deeper. Cold fingers writhed inside him, groped for more to touch, to invade. Then he discovered there were worse things than pain. The sense of something devouring him, eating away at him piece by piece. He gave a frightened cry and tried to jerk away. Uroboros/Sheva clung to him, a jealous lover that would not allow his freedom.

His body frozen and his senses dimming, he feared for his soul; would Uroboros devour that too? Would his consciousness live on, trapped inside that squirming, tentacled prison?

"She's taking you slow, savoring you—perhaps there's a bit of her left in there," Wesker said somewhere to the right. The words held no pride or contempt; he had the voice of someone in awe. Chris lifted his head, watched as the smoke parted and Wesker emerged. It didn't surprise him that Wesker had made it; the damn clock kept on ticking.

Wesker's red eyes studied him, his lips pressed in a straight line and a pensive frown marred his smooth forehead. Chris didn't have the strength to rage at him; in reality—he felt nothing, and from that gray fog of numbness came terror. He struggled once more, a mouse trapped in dark, hungry glue.

No gloating came, no sneers of victory. Strange, he would have preferred it. Wesker's new, somber attitude distressed him. Ruby light glinted from the Samurai-Edge Wesker held loose in his hand. Chris stared at it, uncomprehending what it was for.

Another explosion, this time it shook the entire mountain so hard he expected it to cleave in half. Not far from them—yet just far enough—the magma lake vomited red lava and purple ash. A black cloud billowed and punched the heavens with balls of tainted fire. A surreal image, a faraway dream glimpsed by his dying eyes. Wesker gazed at the inferno, his face bathed in the unearthly violet light. Even the glow of his eyes was lost. He watched him, and wondered how fast Wesker would have to run to escape the eruption. Uroboros/Sheva didn't comment. She slurped around his legs and hugged his waist. Then the tendrils in his arm wound over his shoulders.

"I kept you alive because...I wanted a challenge," Wesker said, his voice low and thoughtful. "Prove I was stronger, better. And justified. Travel one path, see it to the end. He taught me that, and he chose the path. Every obstacle I conquered strengthened me, shaped me. You tested my patience, forced me to adapt my methods, made me question my goal, and the reasons why I pursue it. " Wesker bent over, breath puffing aside the matted hair on Chris's forehead. Uroboros/Sheva didn't react to Wesker's presence. "For that, I thank you, Chris, and will remember you when your name and memory fade from this world."

Wesker stepped back. Blood gushed down his throat in steady, nauseating waves. He didn't feel a thing. A blessing or a curse? He couldn't decide. His vision had started to go black during Wesker's speech, but now he saw everything with such clarity it overwhelmed him. So much beauty, even in this fire pit. The way the flames coalesced, the way the earth crackled and burned. The radiating heat that reminded him of a blacktop on a hot summer's day. Even Wesker looked beautiful standing there, unafraid of death and illuminated by flames. The appeal of fallen angels made sense now. How Lucifer himself must have appeared to mortals: perfect, yet evil. Glorious, yet destructive.

The tentacles wrapped higher, inside his chest now. He felt cold. All this fire and he felt cold.

"Not the way I wanted it, but it appears Uroboros has mutated into another form," Wesker gestured to the purple mist drifting around them as if Chris needed help seeing it. "The volcano will carry the virus to all corners of the world. Victory is mine, yet my first act isn't judgment. Ironic isn't it?"

Wesker lifted his Samurai-Edge. Chris remembered that gun, how picky Wesker had been with the specifications. Had poor Kendo stressing for weeks. His vision blurred, but he managed to meet Wesker's eyes. He'd lost this battle, and because of him, Sheva had died. The world would soon follow. Too slow. He had been always too slow. Uroboros nuzzled his neck and desperation seized him. "Pull the trigger!" he croaked with a voice he didn't recognize as his own. "Damn you, it's what you fucking want, right? Do it!"

But Wesker hesitated, his jaw tight and throat working. Rare emotion in those red eyes. Regret, pity. Two paths no longer traveled side by side. One was ending, veering into the unknown. Tired, so tired. Cherries and salt didn't smell so bad now.

In his mind, she waited for him, smiling. No blond hair, no pale skin. Just Jill as she was before the fall at the Spencer estate, her brown hair in a pony-tail and hidden under her BSAA cap—he could never get her to take that damn thing off. She loved it almost as she had loved him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how much he wished they had more time. All they had were moments.

He fled into her embrace, crushed her against him. He would never let go again, never again—

"Godspeed, Chris," Wesker said.

And fired.

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**AN:**_ I will update this sometime in the late spring, early summer of 2012. _


End file.
